Counter Point Café
by TheOtherMaddHatter
Summary: When is a pipe not a pipe?  When it is a Scarecrow, of course, and one part of an amnesia-inflicted Jonathan Crane.   Sequel to both Chance Encounters and Giving Up Spring
1. Allegro

Counter Point Café

**Long time, no see my friends! I have successfully merged back into dormitory life, though I never left college life over the summer, and moved once again into a room the size of a shoe box with another person. This one is bound to be a bit slow, and I'm dreadfully sorry for it now. I work very hard though. (Or, at least, I try like Hell too...) **

**This story is probably most dedicated to Tomi and Travis. Thanks for everything guys, you make writing this something I feel good about. Hopefully Gotham will be better to you than New York was.  
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**Not that the rest of you are under appreciated, oh no, no, no! I most certainly love each and every one of you, but Tomi has helped out quite a bit in this. I hope you all understand, and enjoy the story regardless.  
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**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

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Jonathan supposed that it didn't really matter just how this entire situation had come about, but that it had come about in the first place.

Wait, did that even make sense?

Jonathan didn't know, and though he seemed to know his own first name, he couldn't for the life of him figure out just why his last name was so difficult to remember all of a sudden. He knew it, and he knew he knew it, but he just couldn't recall it right now. Maybe that was because of the pounding in his head?

Jonathan, if that was indeed his real name, wasn't so sure.

Why couldn't his name be something cool like Xander or James Tiberius anyways?

Yeah, James Tiberius…he liked it.

Oh great, that train of thought only seemed to make his pounding head hurt worse.

He couldn't think of anything that could be possibly worse than this, this moment, this spot in time that he occupied relatively in some plane or dimension. Though, in all fairness and retrospect, having ended up here in the first place was probably bad enough as it was, without adding to the fact that he had no earthly idea who or where he'd come from or, for that all important matter, who he was now, and where he was going to go from _here_.

Speaking of which, just where was _here_, anyways?

He felt like he'd been hit head on by a bus driven by an insane, giggling, smiling feline with a habit of disappearing at bad times and absolutely no sense of direction, followed shortly by something he remembered vaguely as being purple and then shockingly green, coupled with faint metallic traces and squealing tires. Oh wait…he had been hit. The purple thing had hit him, though if it was a car; it was an awful color for one. Who paints a convertible that shade of purple and then puts a green top on it?

And striped the seats the same two colors, though in alternating patterns?

Rich people, that's who.

Jonathan, though he liked James Tiberius better, decided that the bumpy road which was beneath the car he was currently traveling in wasn't plush enough to soften the blows of being bounced about in such an awkward position. Speaking of which, just why was he in this random car anyways? Last thing he could remember was being on a long road with no lights, and it was dark outside, and there were these weird sounds and huge birds…and…

It didn't matter.

Jonathan didn't care.

He didn't care that he couldn't remember who he was, where he'd come from, who's car he was in, or even if it was the same car that he thought had hit him.

Jonathan just didn't care.

He didn't care, so much so, in fact, that he left a smile creep out onto his face. It made his cheek hurt a bit, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. Or was he? Did he smile often, because if he did, that meant something was more wrong with his face than what his blurry vision and probing fingers could find. His cheeks hurt!

Well, so much for that!

No sense doing something that hurt!

But why did it hurt?

So he decided to ask.

"Why does my face hurt?" Wow, was that really his voice? He sounded terrible! "Where am I?"

"Oh good, you're, uh, awake! I thought maybe I'd, um, you know, _hit_ you too _hard_." A rather nasally voice replied, a greasy head jerking to glance in his direction. Jonathan couldn't quite see who it was, or what they were doing, but he just guessed they were driving. Did he wear glasses? "Didn't want to spoil the fun so, uh, soon, if you know what I, heh heh, _mean_."

Jonathan didn't know what he meant, but if the man was laughing, than clearly something had to be funny as well. So he laughed, though it was a bit strained due to the fact that he hurt everywhere, and that his body seemed almost resistant to the idea of laughing itself, but he did it. Slowly at first, strained giggles creeping out before full fledge torrents of laughter came out, along with the screeching of tires and breaks as he was flung forwards into the seat in front of him.

"Did you just, uh, _laugh_, Jonny Boy?" The mystery man asked carefully, tasting each word like it was a drink as Jonathan extracted his face from the back of the leather seat.

"You laughed, so I thought you said something funny. Who's Jonny Boy, is that me?" He asked carefully, peering around the front of the seat carefully. "I like that name, but don't you think James Tiberius sounds cooler? I don't remember where I heard the name at, but I like it better. Jonathan is so…boring, don't you think?"

"I think I hit you harder than I, uh, originally thought."

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**Jonathan might not have been a Trek fan, but I damn well am. And everyone has seen at least something from Trek right? Right? TOS shout out was a must. Xander is a _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ reference. **


	2. Harmony

Counter Point Café Chapter 2

**I know this was really soon, but apparently I'm on a roll...as I've already started three, while I was uploading this one. Wow, this is probably the fastest I've ever written ever. Thanks so much for the reviews and words of encouragement. It makes my day so much better. In fact, so happy, I almost used an emoticon again. (Trying to break the habit.) **

**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

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"Come on Jonny! You, uh, can't _really_ tell me that yah don't even recognize your own, former, apartment?" Jay said loudly as he and Jonny, because he didn't much care for the sound of Jonathan, had walked into the rickety old place. The door was heavy, and, oddly enough, the only one in the hall not busted open or looted. "Might wanna take off your, uh, shoes though…Crow gets all uptight if you don't."

The apartment floor in question was apparently his own, though for the life of him he couldn't remember ever having been here or seeing it before. And, though he wasn't sure if it was appropriate or not, he desperately wanted to ask who this Crow person was. He didn't know anyone seriously named Crow, did he?

Because if he did, he had to wonder just what he'd been doing prior to waking up in the backseat of Jay's convertible.

Or, well, first waking up there, and then waking up in a shady, run down looking clinic where a man in an off-white lab jacket was stitching his forehead up, though his hands were shaking terribly, and he was sure the man's vision had to be failing. But Jay said that the man was okay, and that he'd even be able to tell them why he wasn't able to remember certain things about himself or his past. Oh, and also give him a new pair of glasses to replace the pair that Jay had apparently run over during the hit and run they both had been a part of.

After claiming that he wasn't any official head doctor, the old man had told Jay that Jonathan Crane, who Jonny was, had been dealt a mild dose of Retrograde Amnesia due to a severe concussion, and that it would have to pass on its own. They'd spoke for quite a while as if he wasn't sitting right there, and though he wasn't completely sure what all the doctor said was true, or even what it meant, he did have enough sense about him still to realize that his own form of the amnesia was most likely caused by being hit with a car. Post-traumatic Amnesia, the doctor had called it, not that it really mattered to him, or Jay, but that's what it was. Jonny had the stitched up gash on his temple to prove it, along with the concussion.

At this point, Jonny had tuned them both out and decided that it was a good idea to take a nap, though the second he seemed to finally get some sleep; the damn doctor had shaken him awake while shouting at him. Rude, Jonny thought, very rude. But the man had insisted that he not fall asleep for at least two to three hours, at minimum, for observational purposes, and that he'd let them go with a promise that if he got worse, that Jay would take him to get help.

That's how they'd ended up back here in this, _his_, apartment.

Wondering just who was Crow.

He had to know.

"Who's Crow?" Jonny asked finally as he slowly and methodically took off his shoes in a way that felt familiar, but wasn't really, before looking back at Jay questioningly. "Do we live with him, or something?"

"Or something? We, uh, don't live _together_, Jonny Boy, but you and the Crow sort of share living space. Catch my drift?" Jonny didn't, and so he shook his head 'no' before Jay tapped on his skull with his two pointer fingers. Jonny still didn't get it, but he let the conversation drop. "As for me, I, uh, have been crashing on your couch. Know you don't mind."

The Joker, aka Jay, as he'd told Jonny to call him some time ago when he'd had a mild moment of wake-full clarity, turned back to the door to make sure that the heavy wooden thing was locked tight before turning back to the man he thought was still standing behind him. He wasn't, and as far as he knew, hadn't been the entire time he had been talking. That irked him, but Jonny wasn't himself, obviously, and so he could let it slide…for now.

For now…

He sucked in a deep, calming breath, thought of dancing in the moonlight with the Bat, killing cops, and all sorts of just horrifyingly chaotically _perfect_ things to do before he carefully walked after the faint padding of sock bound feet down the hallways. It was really the only indication that Jonny was even still in the apartment, as he had taken a liking to walking like he usually did, which was damn quietly when he wanted to. Jonathan might not have remembered himself, but his body sure as Hell did, and it was nagging at the Joker every chance it got.

"You said this is my apartment?" Jonathan asked suddenly, popping out from behind a slightly closed doorway that was off to the left of the bathroom. Jonathan's room, then, the main bedroom since the laboratory was across the hall and the living room was where they'd just come from. "I have weird stuff in my closet."

"Re_ally_?" Jay said, drawing out the vowel sounds as much as he could. He'd never been through the closets in there…yet. "What sort of, uh, stuff is in there, Jonny Boy? I'm dying to know."

"Boxes full of old text books and lesson plans, a couple of odd hats and random scarves, a ratty looking teddy bear, some paperwork that looks like deeds, and other stuff." Jonny said slowly, opening the door so Jay could enter behind him. "Do you know what it is all for? There's no writing on most of it, and even if there was, I don't think I'd know."

Jay grumbled something that sounded like a sarcastic remark, though he couldn't really hear it due to the fact that Jay had stuck his head deep into the closet before starting to drag the old stuff out from behind the shoe rack full of slightly dusty, but high end shoes. Leave it to Jonathan bloody Crane to have five pairs of dress shoes and two pair of leather loafers. Did the man even own a pair of slippers, or even flip flops? Tennis shoes maybe? Anything but dress clothing?

Nope, nothing, zip, zilch, nadda, nein.

God, that man…

"What is it, what is it?"

Well, maybe not this man. This man, person, man-child, Jay decided, sounded more like an eager kid than Jonathan probably ever had, and not once in his company had he heard anything remotely sounding like a superiority complex or a snide remark. Nothing like the haughty, ice cold, ex-professor that he'd met up with all those months ago in Arkham, and absolutely nothing like the man he'd come to know as Jonathan Crane.

This made him wonder if this is what Jonathan would have been like without Georgia's influence.

At this thought he did laugh, loudly, the mocking sound pouring out through his stretched open mouth, his slightly painful Keloids, and up through his nasal chamber before echoing into the room around them. Jonny just continued to look at him from over his shoulder, confusion plain on his face. He didn't seem to understand just what was so funny about the entire situation, though the previous version didn't understand much either. Ah, oh well, it didn't really matter much to him either way anyways.

"So, what is it? I don't get it…" Jonny said curiously, crouching on the ground next to him, hands wrapped about his knees tightly. Jay thought he looked like some little emo kid, sitting like that. "These are school plans and syllabi. Was I a teacher?"

"I think, uh, Jonny, that you taught at Gotham University, during your time in school." Jay said, knowing full well that he had been before he'd gone to work for the up and drowning Arkham Asylum. "You said once that as, uh, graduates, you had to work as a TA for part of your degree."

"Oh, I guess that makes sense." He sounded a bit down about it. "So then what do I do now? For a job, I mean. A lot of these are biology, chemistry, and pharmacology text books. Am I a chemist?"

Another snicker of laughter.

"You, uh, could say that Jonny. You could say that." He said, tossing some more of the old, and rather useless, texts out of the way. "Now you're more, uh, freelance, if that's what you'd call it. Used to work as the head Doctor in the nut house down in the Narrows."

"Why'd I quit?" He sounded a bit downtrodden, but at least he wasn't whining. "Or did they fire me?"

"You left them, for a difference in ideology regarding your, uh, patients." Joker said, laughing at his selective wording. Jonny had left them, right after the League of Shadows had blow Arkham all to Hell to get him out…and he had tested on his patients. "It was a good way to, uh, go out. With a _BANG_!"

Another puzzled expression, though he didn't pay any mind to it as he thought through just what he was doing with the man who now called himself Jonathan Crane. He had the man he wanted right where he wanted, minus the panic attacks and, up till now, a belligerent Crow. In fact, he didn't even know when and if the other personality would show, or even if Jonny would ever get his right mind back, since he didn't have it to begin with anyways. He could feed him anything he wanted to tell him, and he doubted that he'd fight it or deny it. He was childlike, and so easily manipulated.

And if the Joker did anything well, it was manipulation.

"Jonny, dear, we're going to need to talk about some, uh, _rules_ while you're in my care. Okay?" He said, looking at the still crouching man, balled up with nothing more than his glass-clad blue eyes peaking out. A faint shake of his hair was what he took as an okay to continue. "Number one…"

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**All amnesia references are as close to medically accurate as I could possibly get them, which by my standards, and hopefully yours, is pretty darn close. Since it is such a personal topic, as in differently affects everyone, it is hard to say just how long and to what extent his will be. But not only does physical trauma play a role, though it is a significant trigger here. Brain chemistry and the patient his or herself do as well, which is why it would affect Jonathan differently. **

**Also, I don't know how it is at other universities, but as part of the graduate program, you must work as a TA under the department head that you wish to pursue for so many semesters in proof that you know your stuff. You don't have to go to medical school to get his degree, as I recently found out. You do residency and what not, just like medical schools, but you have other requirements to fufil, one of which would be teaching. See what I did there? Now he can do both. Ha! **

**They're back in the Apartment from CE and GOS, by the way. It is Jonathan's main "home" and the Joker has been crashing since he left. The time frame for this is between CE and GOS there is only a few moments difference. One continues immediately where the other leaves off, where as this one is some time later. Probably, at least, a few months, and a max a year.  
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	3. Decrescendo

**Counter Point Café Chapter Three**

**You know that Jonny is going to be completely dependent on the Joker, aka Jay after this gets going. I'm probably going to change the rating too, because I want to write some other things in this story. Yes, you know what I'm getting at. (But later.) Also, there will be Scarecrow, no worries, he'll show up, trust me. And he's probably not going to be too happy.  
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**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

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By the next morning, the rules Jay had outlined were hung on the dingy, no-longer off-white fridge, complete in something that looked like red pencil marring the sheet of paper they were scrawled out on. They were taped there by a smiley face sticker, complete with lobotomy markings from a permanent marker, though Jonny couldn't remember exactly what that was supposed to do. He didn't feel it necessary to bother Jay with such a dumb question either, so he'd simply stared at the rules with intent, Hell-bent on memorizing them so he could live up to his care-takers expectations.

Jay was still sleeping.

He didn't want to disappoint him, after all, not when the man was working so hard to take care of him. He felt infantile yes, but loved, and in the grand scheme of things, he could put up with this behavior since it is what Jay said he did before the accident anyways. If he did it before, he could do it again, right?

So Jonny got to reading.

**Number One: No going outside without an escort, aka me. Which means don't go outside…**_**Ever**_**. **

The first rule was simple, he supposed. It wasn't something overly ridiculous, like only wear purple socks on the first and last Tuesday of the month or something. He could do it. _He could do it._

Jonny wasn't to leave the apartment for anything unless specifically told to do so by Jay.

That was all there was too it.

He wasn't to answer the door, to get the mail, go grocery shopping, or even open to door to overly nosy neighbors. (Which Jay had said they didn't have. He wasn't sure why that was so funny to the man with scars on his face, but Jonny didn't argue or question him.) The end of the line in discussion was that he wasn't to leave, as it was bad for him and his health. Or so Jay had said.

And Jay was taking care of him, right?

So why disobey him and make him upset when that didn't need to happen?

No, Jonny pledged to him, right there, crouched in the floor of the bedroom, that he wouldn't go outside unless Jay drug him out with a purpose and logical intent. He promised, and as far as he was concerned, that was a life binding promise. He wouldn't disobey.

On the opposite end of that was the condition that no one but Jay enters the apartment unless there was specific verbal permission from Jay himself. (As in him being there.) Jay had told him it was because of the area of the Narrows that their apartment, and he'd used the words 'our apartment' when explaining, was in. There was no telling what sort of lunatic or murder they might let in. Hell, just look at what someone who'd claimed to be in desperate need of assistance did to Jay's face, and he'd only been passing by on the street with nothing on him but his name and clothing.

'They'd rob us,' he'd said, 'and then they'd do worse things to you.'

Jonny didn't care to know what those worse things were. It was much simpler to just follow the rules and keep it all from ever happening or for him from ever figuring those worse events out.

**Number Two: Don't read any of the papers in the apartment, since they are really old and full of lies anyways. Or mail, since you probably wouldn't get anything but bills anyways, and I'm taking care of those. **

Well, that was a bit more complex for him, as he was naturally curious, but seeing as how there were only clips and stuff strung about the place anyways, and nothing more than some rearranged ads in heaps under the sink by the garbage, Jonny thought he'd be safe. As long as no one flooded the apartment with mail against his will, he would be able to follow this rule just fine.

Besides, he was a bit afraid of this Joker fellow anyways.

All the news clippings on the walls in the living room above Jay's couch were about him, and though the pictures were distinctly blurry and most weren't even in range, he could faintly make out the colors of clown make-up and a large purple overcoat. The articles said he had scars too, ones that Jay himself sported, and when confronting Jay with this question, he'd been yelled at to stop reading the papers. (Hence the rule…)

But Jay had quickly regained control of himself, and upon seeing Jonny shake with what could only be fear at having upset his only other source of stimulating contact, relented to tell him the story of just how he'd gotten the Glasgow grin in the first place. The Joker, before he'd become a big and famous criminal, had lived in the Narrows, not too far from Jay's apartment, and as such saw him walking to and from work each day. He'd picked Jay as a victim, a practice doll, for which he'd soon make his calling card grin. The results were anything but pleasant.

Jonny hadn't brought the news paper clippings or the Joker up again.

**Number Three:** **No whining or crying. Just…no.**

Jonny would hope that the other him, the really real him, didn't do this so much that this rule was spawned from it. He hoped that this rule was a precaution, or an aversion, since he didn't really think Jay knew what to do with upset individuals anyways, least of all him. But he'd make it a fairly important point not to do either of the things put in bold on this list.

For Jay, at least, if not for his own dignity.

He wasn't a wallflower after all; he wouldn't wilt at the first sign of danger or terror. But, for the life of him, he couldn't remember where he knew that word from, or why he wasn't one. It had just popped up into his mind of its own will. Hmm, that might take a bit of thought on his part, but otherwise he should be okay. The doctor said the body knows him better than he did at the moment, and that it'd try to correct the problem it seemed to be having. So who was he to argue?

**Number Four:** **Leave the mess alone. If something's in a heap, it is that way for a reason. Don't go around picking things up that need to be left in their proper place.**

It didn't take all that long to figure out that Jay was a messy, messy person. The state of the living room alone should have been able to tell him that, but for all he had looked around, that room was the only one he couldn't seem to find absolutely sparkling clean. Whoever their other flat-mate was, (Crow, he reminded himself) they seemed to be a bit OCD about the place. He himself was quite content to just let Jay's mess be, unless it started to run out of the living room and into another. But he doubted that even Jay would let it get that far, since he seemed pretty…what was the word he'd used?

Organized chaos…

That seemed like a good way to put it to him in any case.

But Jonny was starting to find out that though chaos seemed to be Jay's favorite word, he didn't always completely live up to it. There were certain aspects of his life, to any life, that he didn't apply this theory of his. His work desk, which was actually just the rickety kitchen table and the floor in the living room in front of the brand new looking TV, was oddly chaotically organized. That was to say, thing were set into piles, but the piles themselves were messy. It was a bit hard to understand, Jonny thought, but he wasn't going to argue about it.

Though, Jay was rather picky about stuff in the bathroom cabinets. He had a bag under the sink, it was black, and it contained all his bathroom necessities, apparently. Jonny was asked politely not to touch it or go through it. All his stuff, he was assured, was behind the vanity mirror, and when he'd checked, he'd found everything there just like Jay had said. He had no desire to go snooping.

**Number Five**: **Don't go into the door at the end of the hallway, to the right. **

This was probably one of the most important rules, Jay had explained. Jonny didn't know why it was so important, but if it had to be a rule, then it had to hold true. After all, Jay didn't seem one for theatrics. Though, he had to admit, he was really, really curious to know what was behind that now locked door. It had seemed innocent enough, and it couldn't be all that big of a deal…right?

Jonny had made the mistake of asking about this one.

Jay hadn't outright exploded in anger, though he did seem to have to try very hard to restrain himself as he'd turned back around to Jonny and put his hands on his shoulders, squeezing hard and explaining. By the end of the long and drawn out explanation, Jonny's eyes had started watering and he was whimpering slightly from the pain of Jay's thumbs digging in below his collar bone. Maybe this was why Jay had gone back and added in the no crying or whining rule after all. He tried to not even glance at the hallway door as he walked past it.

**Number Six: If you feel sick, say something. Don't put it off or ignore it.**

That included voices no one else could hear, though Jay wouldn't elaborate on the last part for him any when he'd asked for clarification. When Jay had just continued on talking about him being really sick and still injured after his encounter with the hood of someone's car, Jonny had just let it drop, thinking it wise to not have another "Locked Door" incident.

He was sick, so he could understand the necessity of this certain rule. His head still pounded and the stitching on his temple itched and burned at the same time, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. And that was only a little of the stuff. He was covered in bruises and scrapes, a notoriously large one on his midriff and left thigh the highlight of his outward physical injuries. (Jay loved to pay those bruises attention, Jonny knew, because he often caught him gazing at them.) Other injuries included his severe concussion and the lovely bout of amnesia he was suffering from, though he wasn't really suffering from the later part, only the first.

But the voices part did worry him some. 'Was that normal for people with severe concussions?' he'd wanted to ask, but hadn't felt it was an appropriate dinner conversation topic over the nice meal of Chinese Jay had brought back after his quick trip out. He'd bought not only the hot food though, but other stuff for the apartment and Jonny, for which he was eternally grateful. Perhaps Jay would even want to watch one of the few movies Jonny had been able to find in the top shelves of the closet in the bedroom they were sharing. He could only hope so, because a certain part of him felt like that was the right thing to do.

**Number Seven:** **That is not a phone ringing in the room off limits, so don't go in there looking for it. (It isn't for you anyways; no one wants to call you but me.)**

He didn't like phones anyways; this one should be a piece of cake. Jay had given him a special cell phone anyways that he could use to call him on twenty-four seven. He couldn't make other calls out, but he could receive and make them to the numbers Jay programmed in there, and that was good enough for him.

**Number Eight:** **No dress clothing or dress shoes. Socks are permitted, but only if they're of the funny variety or worn with slippers…which I bought you.**

And indeed he had.

Among some of the shopping bags Jay had brought back along with the Chinese, there was a singular pair of Halloween slippers in his size. They were white and in the shape of what looked to be a ghost dog, with long, thin white ears, a happy smile, and light-up pumpkins on each of their noses that sparkled when he walked. They were very warm, encompassed his entire foot, and were oddly easy to walk in. He loved them, and promptly put them on after he'd carefully removed the remnants of the price tags.

He couldn't really see wearing dress shoes anyways, since he wasn't leaving the apartment, and they were sort of uncomfortable. The loafers wouldn't be too bad, but since he didn't want to wear shoes in the house and risk getting the carpet dirty, he just opted to wear the slippers all the time.

The dress clothing wouldn't be too hard either, since he wasn't receiving guests or anything, and the stiff shirts and starched ties were tight about his neck, which he felt was highly uncomfortable. So he'd done some digging through the chest of drawers in the far corner of the room, and in the very bottom drawer he'd found an assortment of t-shirts and baggy, pajama pants. He'd taken to wearing a certain Halloween themed set so that he matched his shoes. (And then wondered why he had so much Halloween stuff stashed in his apartment.) Orange plaid pants with a large black t-shirt with a pumpkin stenciled on it made up his attire now, and though they were all a bit big and baggy on his frame, Jay said they had looked nice.

**Number Nine:** **Any of these rules are up for my debate and what not. If I decide you need more, then you'll get more. You can't change my mind either, since I know what's best for you. **

At this one, Jonny had to sigh.

Jay did seem to know what was best for him, but it wasn't like he was completely invalid or something. He could do things for himself, like cook and clean and watch TV, and he could do other things too, but Jay seemed Hell bent on keeping him wrapped up and protected. (Jay had made a passing remark that Jonny was like his newly rescued stray kitten, and although he could clearly move on his own, he still needed to be smothered to recover quicker. Jonny didn't get the metaphor.) At least he knew that someone out there was looking out for him, and though he didn't really know anyone else, and Jay hadn't talked about anyone other than that Crow person, he still was glad that he'd met with Jay first and not some freak in the alleyway.

And even though he was a bit cooped up and curious and anxious to do things properly, Jonny couldn't really argue with the rules written up for his protection and safety. Jay was protecting him from a dangerous city, far more dangerous than just normal criminals, Gotham had people like this Joker fellow and The Batman. And, if Jonny wasn't afraid of the Joker enough already, this Batman who supposedly captured the Joker, sounded even more terrifying. Jonny hadn't asked about him.

Now this list seemed a bit longer than it probably should…but Jonny was going to do it.

He was going to learn and follow the rules.

To make Jay happy.

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**Jonathan definitely has Zero slippers. Zero is from _The Nightmare Before Christmas_.  
**


	4. Maestoso

**Counter Point Café Chapter Four**

**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

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**

The first day went off without a hitch, or so Jonny thought, but it was by the third or maybe it was the fourth day, when he started struggling with the rules. Boredom can really do that to a person, especially him, it seemed. But Jonny wouldn't let that deter him, oh no. He was going to keep his promise to Jay, and he was going to do it without giving in to any temptation. But, with what they had been doing, he was really starting to miss Jay's presence already.

On day one they'd done nothing, really, besides sitting around together, watching various movies and eating food that Jay seemed to drag out from nowhere. When Jonny had checked the cabinets, he couldn't find anything but old cereal and some stale crackers, the fridge in the same condition as the rest of the kitchen, but when Jay went into the kitchen, he always came out with goodies of all sorts. Not that Jonny was complaining or anything, but it was a bit questionable.

But he'd just smiled, accepted the food happily, and snuggled back up to Jay on the couch to continue on with whatever movie they'd been watching at the time. Which, in all fairness, was rather nice for both him and Jay, or at least it appeared as such. (After the first few hours in Jay's presence, he was starting to think that Jay wasn't exactly…straight. And, after a few more hours, he was starting to suspect that he wasn't either.)

At first he'd been a bit uncomfortable at that thought, but as they sat on the couch together, he decided that it might not be so bad after all. If he took comfort in the fact that Jay would let him put his head on his shoulders and would occasionally pet his hair during the movie, what was so wrong about that? It wasn't like Jay would ever force him to do…other things with him. No, he quite trusted Jay, and he trusted his body to know better than he did.

The second day went off somewhat in the same manner, though by now they'd watched every movie that the Joker and he could find in the apartment. So Jay had gone out for food and came back with even more movies, quite a few of them scary in genre. Jonny wasn't too sure that he liked the scary movies all that much, but by the way that Jay went on, he had to assume that at one point he had really liked them, and that Jay was trying to comfort him subconsciously with them. He wasn't rude enough to turn down such a thoughtful gift, even if some of the scenes made him want to hide his face in the dirty, curly hair of his partner on the couch.

He still appreciated the thoughtfulness.

The third day was when things started to get really hairy, or, well, less than hairy, he supposed, since when he woke up, he woke up in the bed alone for the first time. The last two nights he'd had nightmares about birds and strange people without faces, and woke up screaming so loud that Jay had eventually just relented and come to stay with him in bed. The man had grumbled the whole time, and Jonny had found that he slept in nothing more than his boxer shorts, but he was grateful none the less that he finally had an anchor in between the horrid imagery that had plagued him while he slept. He wouldn't comment on the fact that after Jay went to sleep, he unconsciously sought out the other person in the bed to cuddle with them…Jonny would never tell.

But this morning had been different, and instead of waking up snuggled next to Jay liked he had before, he had woken up to a cold bed and an equally cold set of toes sticking out from beneath the mismatched bed sheets. Though he'd wanted nothing more than to bury himself back down into the covers until Jay came back and got him up for breakfast, he couldn't help but feel as if something in the apartment was missing, even if he couldn't pin point it. He was going to ignore it, but as he went to roll back over, his bleary vision caught a strange inconsistency in the sheets. More inconsistent that the sheets themselves, that is.

Slowly his fingers snaked out from beneath their warm enclosure to feet along the sheets, making their way towards what didn't appear to be a patch or knit in the covers, but something else entirely. It didn't take long for his arms to reach it, it was at arm's length anyways, and when he did, he was surprised that it didn't feel like the sheets around him did. Instead it was rough and had a crinkled texture, one that he thought he recognized.

A note, it was a note crumpled up on his opposite pillow, like someone had been sleeping on it.

He might have been for a while without knowing it.

Jay had said he was a restless sleeper the morning before when he'd woken up to Jay's green eyes almost hovering in front of his face, only a few inches to separate them. Jonny had blinked rapidly, and was going to move back and scream before he realized that he couldn't exactly move all that well, and that when he pulled on the blankets, Jay moved with him too. Jonny hadn't known that they were stuck in the covers with one another, though he couldn't imagine just how they'd gotten there. Jay had said it was because he was kicking and fighting in his sleep, and he'd made to calm him down and ended up stuck that way.

But it had given Jay a chance to watch him sleep and to look over his injuries some, which is how he noticed the awful black eye forming in combination with the bruised head that surrounded the laceration at his temple. They were connected down the side of his face, and were only a bit sore to the touch, despite their terrible coloring. Jay had giggled and said it had looked like he'd beaten Jonny, and if he were to go out into a public that cared, they might tell him to go to an abused spousal shelter. Jonny had just smiled and laid there, blurry vision taking in what it could of Jay as they laid in bed and talked.

And though Jay wasn't here this morning to wake him up like that again, he had been kind enough to leave him a note, to which Jonny hurried to fetch his glasses off the small night table at the side of the bed to read it. As he thought, on the paper was Jay's familiar tiny scrawl in a beloved red ink pen that marred the paper for his benefit. He couldn't help but let his smile increase with each sentence he read.

'_Jonny,_

_I have to go into the office (he he he) early this morning. Don't freak when you realize I am not there when you wake up. Remember to not go out, and to regard the rest of the rules. Obey them, or I'll know, and punish you accordingly when I get home. _

_:D Jay_'

Jonny read the letter again for a second time before letting his head flop back into the pillows, a sigh escaping his lips as he realized that he had no earthly clue as to what Jay did for a living. He'd said office, but he also called the pit in front of the couch and on the table in the kitchen his office too. Was he a freelance for hire too, like Jonny was? Was that how they'd met? What sort of work did Jay do?

He knew he had to stop himself when a million and one questions threatened to spill out from between his lips and take over the apartment. But he couldn't help but wonder what the other man did, it was natural, and no matter what he thought, he couldn't come up with a decent explanation. In fact, the only thing that came close to something he thought Jay might do was write for the newspapers. That would explain all the newspaper clippings in the living room, and since he'd only been allowed to glance at them anyways, he couldn't be sure.

But a lot of them had been about the Joker and Batman.

Jonny couldn't help but shiver at the thought that maybe Jay ran around all day and night, trying to catch glimpses of them for his articles. The danger alone was enough to make him want to cry. But not, that was one of the rules, and he couldn't break the rules, no matter how depressed and worried the stupid lack of knowledge made him. He couldn't let Jay down like that so infinitely, even if he wasn't at home. Jay had said he'd know…

**xXx**

And know he would.

Jay, well no, not really Jay, because that was just who he was back at the apartment taking care of crazy amnesia Jonny, thought, sitting in front of several computer screens in his office. Well, a new office, since he'd already disposed of the last one and the set of Henches to go with it. He couldn't afford to be sticking around one place too long, and though he really enjoyed the old warehouse building they'd been stashed in sometime last week, he thought he could come to love this old abandoned Church just as much as he had the warehouse or any of his other buildings.

After all, a bit of sacrilege and blasphemy did wonders for one's creative juices.

Not to mention, the abandoned church was legally obtained, left no paper trail, and was within a few blocks of the metro which he took to and from work as his normal disguise of 'Jay' which meant that the broadcasting cameras could reach here just fine. Which was how he knew exactly when Jonny woke and read his note, and how he saw his resolve waver for a few moments before the hard façade snapped back into place. He was rather proud of Jonny for that one, and equally intrigued as to what had brought it on in the first place.

After all, though he had a picture, he had no sound, and even if he did, he didn't have anything to pick up on unsaid, inner dialogues. But regardless of that one little glitch, his plan was going just how he wanted it to, though he was hoping to have seen the bat prior to this. The bat hadn't been out much since their last encounter at the Hospital almost a year ago, but on the occasion he did pop up to put one of his more daring plans out of action and then hand him, tied up, and over to the Commissioner before disappearing before more cops could arrive. It wasn't the kind of quality time he'd like to spend with the reluctant man, but at least he did get to see him.

But he was just glad he didn't see him the other night when he'd gone out to pick up some stuff, which not only included the Chinese food and groceries he'd shown to Jonny, but also the man's antipsychotic medication. He didn't need to deal with a detoxing, hysterical man, on top of dealing with him in his amnesia state as it was. Jonny could be complacent, when he wanted to, but not even he could want to be complacent and listening when he was in the midst of some horrifying panic attack like he normally was during his less than lucid moments. It was those moments that totally irked him to no end.

But, as long as Jonny continued to drink that one glass of milk he did every morning with his breakfast, and the one glass of tea he did in the evening, he wouldn't have to worry about the man missing his daily dose of medication. And, if there was one thing that Jonny didn't do, it was deviate from schedule. Joker knew that even though Jonny himself didn't recognize himself in the mirror, his body certainly knew him, just like it knew the drugs he was being pumped full of.

That alone made Jay, the Joker, smirk with pride.

He had it all right now.

Jonny, the one man who'd been able to elude his grasp of his own will while they'd worked together, had finally been delivered to him, right as he'd wanted him. And to think, all he'd had to do was to hit him with his car and then drag him home! It was perfect, oh so perfect, and as long as Jonny followed the rules he'd been given, it would remain that way. Well, that and as long as the Bat or the GCPD didn't get to close to the apartment, they'd be just fine. He'd keep Jonny like that in his grasp for as long as it was possible for him to do so, and, as soon as Jonny started to slip, and Jonathan started to filter back in, he'd jump at the chance to see what they could do together again.

As long as Scarecrow kept his nose out of it, that is.

But so far there'd been no signs of him reappearing, and the slight sedative he'd slipped into Jonny's tea leaves, since he drank the real kind and not the damn bags, was supposed to keep him calm enough to keep the damn split from waking him up. Because as long as Jonny didn't need the Crow, then the Crow didn't need to wake up from his long slumber to come and fight for Jonathan's honor. And that was exactly what the Joker had in mind. Two birds with one stone, you see, and the more he gained Jonny's trust now, the more trust he'd have when Jonathan started to filter back, if he started to filter back.

**xXx**

Jonny hadn't expected that the cabinets and the refrigerator to be fully stocked upon his waking, but when he got up to make himself the customary glass of milk that he had in the mornings, he found that everything was well stocked and purposefully filled. He could have anything he wanted for breakfast it seemed, and the choices were endless to his slightly grumbling stomach. So, after he'd finished his glass of milk, he set about cleaning up the kitchen a bit, finding out where there was some rarely-used looking cookware, and making himself some baked bacon grits and eggs.

But as he was cracking the eggs into the depressions of the grits before baking the whole mixture, he stopped and stared down at the whole mess in the pan. How had he known how to make this? Did he even really like it? Well, a part of him had to really like it, otherwise he wouldn't have known how to make it, but did he like it?

He cracked the eggs and baked the mess in the pan.

In less than a half hour, he was situated at one end of the couch, his slipper clad feat tucked up underneath him as he stared at the lifeless TV, eating his breakfast. He considered turning it on, to watch the news, since that wasn't specifically covered by Jay's rules, but even he figured that was a bit slick and technically cheating. So he'd opted to leave it off unless he was going to watch a movie, which he might do later, after he'd finished poking about the room that was 'his' to his heart's content. He'd discovered that he indeed did really like the breakfast he'd created, and that given the chance to cook, he might figure out what else he liked to eat.

He might even be able to make Jay a nice dinner for when he came home.

But he didn't know what to make since he didn't know what Jay liked to eat.

He'd have to guess.

Jonny got to work in the kitchen, eagerly awaiting Jay's arrival home.

* * *

**You can crush up pills and put them in milk or tea leaves brew. The crushed up pill mixture binds to the protein and calcium in milk and so you can give pills that way, especially if you were dealing with an infant or toddler who can't swallow pills. **


	5. Pastorale

**Counter Point Café Chapter Five**

**I'm very sorry for the super long gaps between the last few, rapidly posted chapters, and this one, so I did try to make it a bit longer than I normally do, to which I succeeded marginally by a good 500 words I think. I want you all to know that I'm not quitting, I'm just working very hard at college and life right now, and trying to squeeze everything in is a bit of a hassle. **

**For those of you who don't know: **

**I do have to go back and still fix Giving Up Spring, since I have yet to correct the medical errors in quite a few of their chapters. Seems I had a bad source, to which someone pointed out to me and gave me new ones, lots of them. (And they're brilliant, but a lot to sort through, though I am doing it, because I'm anal retentive like that.) I will be going back to fix them, but probably not anytime soon, as I have a research article to not only read through, do research on, and pick apart, but also to write. It'll be my first authentic article, and I'm super worried about it. Please give me some time and understanding, thank you very much. **

**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

**

* * *

**

Jonny watched helpless as once again, Jay gathered up his work, shoved it into his satchel, and headed out the door for work. He hadn't been exactly forthcoming in what his job was when Jonny had finally asked over dinner last night, nor had he seemed thrilled that Jonny was curious, but he had reluctantly made some vague semblance at what he did and where he went when he left. Jonny couldn't understand much through the scars in the way and the large mouthful of potatoes that he'd shoved into his mouth before he spoke, but it had sounded like something he'd associate with freelance.

Oh, who was he kidding?

He couldn't understand a word Jay had said.

It was like Jay hadn't wanted him to know…

So Jonny had drawn the conclusion that he was some sort of reporter or engineer of some sort, though he was leaning towards an engineer since some of the paperwork he'd seen Jay with was blueprints and he often smelt of chemicals and gunpowder when he came home. It wasn't an unpleasant smell or anything, oh no, he rather liked it when it mixed with Jay's own natural body smell, something faint and dank to be cured with gunpowder. Yes, he liked the smell of it, though he'd never admit it out loud, even when Jay caught him sniffing his pillows and hair in the morning before his shower.

The only thing that clashed with his idea that Jay was an engineer though, was the fact that he never seemed to keep the same work hours from day to day. Take tonight, for example. It was nearly nine o'clock at night, dark as pitch outside the one window over the sink in the kitchen and in the bedroom, and Jay was packing up to leave once more. He'd been gone most of the day, running errands, having stuff printed, making phone calls out in the hallways where Jonny couldn't hear. It hadn't really bothered him at first, but it was starting to irk him that he was leaving him alone at night. Jonny didn't want to admit it, but he was afraid of the dark in Gotham City. Too many creeps out there, for his taste.

But he'd watch like he knew he should, silent but observant, waiting for Jay to talk to him like he normally did before he left to do whatever it was that he did. He'd watch because he knew there really wasn't much else for him to do and because he wanted to make Jay happy. There wasn't really much else for him to want, not in this life.

Not in _his_ life.

Oh a rare moment, he often wondered what it was about this life that made him stay in the first place.

"I'll be, uh, back late tonight. Make sure you lock the door behind me, got me Jonny?" He said, tucking his final stack of paperwork into the black bag at his back as he looked over his shoulder at Jonny. "Lots of nutcases out there, Jonny Boy, don't want to come back to a ransacked apartment and a, uh, _dead_ roommate."

"Of course, Jay, of course I'll lock the door." He said, tucking a stray lock of hair out of his face and glasses, internally cringing at how Jay said roommates. Like he didn't realize Jonny felt something for him at all. "Whatever you say."

"That's, uh, right Jonny Boy. Whatever I say." A smug smirk tugged at the corners of his scarred mouth as he glanced back at an obedient partner. "Don't stay up to late."

"I won't…"

The shutting of the door was louder echoing around the empty apartment than he could ever think it would be, making him sigh at the fact that it was more easily heard than his own answer to Jay's more-than-likely rhetorical statement. Maybe it was the seclusion or the lack of anything stimulating, but Jonny was starting to become rather lonely and fidgety. But he'd never tell Jay, or even show the slightest hint of discomfort or neglect, because he didn't want to burden Jay with anything more than he'd already burdened him with. Jonny felt guilty, so he kept quiet with his seclusion.

But he wondered just how long he could keep up the façade.

And just how long he would keep from going mad.

Up until this point, Jonathan had been good, followed all the rules, kept an eye on all his injuries, and so far, hadn't heard any mysterious voices that no one else could hear. He'd stayed out of the dreaded end room, hadn't left the apartment for anything, kept the door locked, saw no one, and didn't wear dress clothes when he picked up his own mess in the mornings. He hadn't much to do the last few days besides watch the movies still in the apartment again, that or clean, or read, which is how he knew that if he didn't get more mental stimulation soon he would more than certainly go mad.

He even wanted to do laundry, something impossible in the apartment they were staying in currently. And, for all intents and purposes, he hated to do laundry. He wasn't sure why this was so important, that he hated something he didn't quite remember ever doing, but he knew above all else that he hated the task. So their clothing was really starting to pile up inside the bathroom door, in an already cramped space, without so much as a second thought on either of their parts.

Jonny's hands lingered on the lock after he heard the faint clicking that would signal to him that it'd locked up tight, as he knew it should be, before he headed back towards the bedroom where his movie was waiting to be played. This TV, the one Jay had drug home the night before, was much smaller and a bit older than the one in the living room, but unlike that one, it didn't have a cable plug in, so even if he turned it on, it couldn't get him into trouble. He could watch movies without a second thought, something he'd been immensely, silently, appreciative of.

And he'd already picked out a new movie to watch tonight.

So, along with his now gathered pile of laundry from the bathroom and a bowl of freshly washed gapes he'd set in there before Jay had left, he sat down on the bed and started to sort out the piles of clothes as _The Man Who Laughs_ played on the screen before him. Something about this movie reminded him strongly of Jay at points, but he figured that it was something that happened. You could find similarities to anyone in almost any movie you watched, what made this one so important? Even if Conrad Veidt seemed to liken some of Jay's more solemn moods in his performance...

The movie hadn't even been playing for a half-an-hour when he first heard it, the rattling of the front door. It wasn't overly strong or anything, just the slight rattling of the hinges, the chain moving slightly, as if someone had bumped the large wooden frame from outside on accident. That's all it probably was, now that he thought about it, though it was a bit odd that anyone was up on this floor, since they seemed to be the only inhabitants of it when he'd first been lead in. But maybe others had moved in after them? Maybe he had neighbors, ones he wouldn't be able to talk to…

Another fifteen or so minutes of silence passed with him watching the sorrow-filled acting of Veidt on screen, the music softly filtering into the bedroom around him as he continued to sort out the clothing into piles. It was lonely, he thought slightly, but not something he couldn't deal with. His movies kept him company, and Jay had even hinted at getting an animal earlier that morning. He would like that, maybe a kitten, which was what Jay had compared him to in the first place, or even a dog…anything to be with him in the night when Jay was gone.

Maybe he'd even name it Conrad, just like the actor.

The sound of the front door being busted in wasn't just part of his imagination though, and as he heard the terrible sound of the wooden frame cracking, Jonny couldn't help but momentarily freeze in place with panic. There was someone in the apartment with him now, someone he didn't know, someone who could…who could…

Jonny panicked.

There weren't any weapons in the apartment, or at least anything that could be potentially used as a weapon in this portion of the place anyways, so Jonny was on his own…defenseless. Oh god, what was he going to do?

Loud crunching of splintered wood on carpet and tiles filtered into the room beneath the bedroom door, which thankfully was closed. If it had been opened, Jonny was sure his heart would have already stopped. As it was now, it was just trying to pound its way out of his chest and onto the floor in front of the bed. So loud, was the pounding that he didn't hear the footsteps move down the hallway towards his room until it was just in front of the door. He could tell by the large shadow cast underneath the door frame that someone was standing there.

Someone was standing at the doorway…

Someone was close to him…

And he couldn't move, for fear that he'd draw attention to himself.

Maybe if he laid down and pretended to be asleep? No, no, that was a dumb idea, that'd just give the intruder more access to him, an easier way to tie him up, to hurt him. He couldn't move, the bed creaked too loudly when he did, even slightly, and he couldn't afford that sort of noise. Then what could he do? He couldn't just sit there defenseless…he couldn't just let it happen.

But Jonny didn't get a chance to decide, because at that moment, at that terrible moment, the handle to his bedroom door turned and the door opened inwards to reveal a man, or he at least believed it to be a man. And not just any man, no, a very tall, very buff man…clad completely in black Kevlar or leather or something deep black and absolutely gleaming. A black something that Jonny instantly recognized from all the photos hanging on the wall in the living room.

The Batman

Jonathan felt something within him give.

The whirlwind of motion that soon followed was mostly a blur to him, a large, fear-fueled, horror-induced whirlwind of epic proportions. He felt, rather than saw, himself move off the bed and towards the far corner of the room, behind the singular nightstand and lamp, and away, as far away as he could get, from the intruder. At least he didn't scream, or start crying…at least outright, but he could feel his heart beating furiously, erratically almost, and his hands searching the walls and floor, anything to stop the approach of the oncoming man in black.

Had he not been worried about himself, and his own survival, he might have also have noticed the identical look of shock on the face of the cowl-clad man before him. As it was, he didn't see it, and instead solely focused on how hard he wanted to burrow through the wall and out of the presence of the dark intruder. Who, as it so happened, was slowly approaching him with what he thought where clear intentions. He was going to be hurt, just like Jay had warned.

He was about a foot away when Jonathan really started to panic, his eyes shut tightly, hands protection his head as he tried to curl into a sitting version of the fetal position. He could hear himself whimpering, crying and screeching like a wounded, trapped, _dying_ animal, nothing coherent escaping his mouth but noise and what he knew to be half-formed pleas.

This was it…he _was going to die_, or _worse_…

"Please…_please_ don't. I didn't…I didn't do anything!" He cried helplessly, no longer looking to the dark shadow now hovering over him. It was so close that he could feel the man's cape brush against his legs. "I've been good! I've been good!"

"Crane?"

The growling voice seemed to grind out his given last name, and Jonny flinched at the sound. Why…oh god why was this man in their apartment? Where was Jay when he needed him? Why was no one helping him? What had he done?

"Crane, you need to breathe, you're having a panic attack." _No shit, Sherlock_, a part of his brain thought, while another part of his brain continued to have a massive emotional breakdown. "Crane, can you hear me?"

But he couldn't answer.

The next thing he knew, he was being scooped up and set down on the bed, hands other than his own latched to his person, one on his wrist and the other and his back to keep him upright, the Batman talking to him, demanding things, though what they were he wasn't sure. He couldn't quiet hear anything over the roaring blood in his ears and the thundering of his heart. But, if he'd had to guess by watching the man's lips move, he'd say he was being shouted at. Well, he'd shout back, but he was a bit busy at the moment.

And his vision looked weird about the edges.

Was that something vibrating on the bed next to him?

Oh, that's right, the phone Jay gave to him.

Jay...

How would he explain this to Jay?

If he died, how would Jay know?

How would Jay know that he thought he _loved_ him?

* * *

**The movie I referenced, along with the actor, is one of my favorite Conrad Veidt movies, along with **_**The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Orlac's Hande (The Hands of Orlac)**_**, and the one you all probably know him from, **_**Casablanca**_**. I'm in love with the man, as well as his always stunning performances. If you are unfamiliar with his work, I highly suggest that you look him up. **

**I'm not sure if it is true, but rumors are that The Joker was actually based on the character Gwynplaine, from **_**The Man Who Laughs**_**, who had a permanent smile instilled upon his face during childhood by an angry King. (The movie is based upon the novel by Victor Hugo, which I love as an author. You probably know him for his work ****The Hunchback of Notre Dame****.) The story is so touching, and the performances given by the cast in this movie are phenomenal. **

**Jonathan has panic attacks, as we are all well aware of, along with a possible heart condition that I'm sure he has. You don't just get sprayed in the face with high-dosage fear grade hallucinogens and walk away from that unscathed. (Also refer to my stand alone piece, **_**Neon Black**_**, for more details on his heart condition for this story.) **


	6. Variations

Counter Point Café Chapter Six

**Giving Up Spring is missing... I didn't delete it, or even get a chance to fix it. It is just gone... Did someone report it or something? (It's not even the offensive one, or so I thought. The Medical errors maybe?) I suppose this keeps me from spewing miss-read medical info, so a blessing in disguise it probably is. **

**This one's short...I'm very sorry. Midterms.**

**Also, Jonny's ringtone is "This is Halloween" from The Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack.  
**

**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

**

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**

It was the ringing of the phone that did it, he thought dismally as he stared at the crumbling ceiling lightly, not caring who or what was now standing at the bedside next to him, one hand still clamped incredibly tight on his wrist, cast shadows trailing far across him and the laundry covered bed. (He was fairly sure that one pair of Jay's boxer shorts were laying on him, as well as half the mound of clothes that'd been there when they'd started out.) It was the ringing of the phone that had probably done it…yeah, that sounded about right.

Jonny wasn't sure when he'd lost consciousness, or if he'd really lost consciousness at all…but he was sure that he had a pounding headache, and upset stomach, and that he felt more dead than alive at the moment. (And by dead, he meant nauseated and profusely covered in what could only be described as 'cold-drenched sweat' from unknown source stimuli…huh, his brain gave him weird words sometimes.) Yes, he was definitely feeling a bit more dead than alive, and definitely emotionally stunted.

The lack of fear at glancing over to see the Batman still clamped tightly to his person confirmed that, at least.

The Bat didn't even seem to notice he was awake.

He didn't even feel like sighing at this…even though the one-sided conversation the Batman was apparently having with his hand seemed to have to do with him. Have a lot to do with him.

"What've you done to him?" Did the man ever just talk, as opposed to growling? Jonny had to wonder, which lead to the slightly amusing thoughts of a man dressed in full Kevlar in the throat surgeon's office for repairs due to unnecessary stressing of the vocal cords. "I said, _what've you done to him_? Crane's hardly responsive and he looked at me like he'd never seen me before in his life!"

Oh, someone had their knickers in a twist.

_Pssht_, Batman in knickers.

Would he wear them over or under his Kevlar costume?

Just how did he know it was Kevlar anyways?

Jonny continued down that musing train of thought while he only partially listened to the Batman demand over his hand to know what someone's done to someone else. _Him_, he thought dimly once more, the conversation was about him, though for the life of him he couldn't imagine what the vigilante's hand knew about him anyways. His hand certainly didn't know anything about itself… It had to be about him, as there was no name involved and the Batman was using the phone Jay had given him.

And then it clicked…he had _the phone_.

The one that only Jay could call.

The one he had called, right before he blacked out.

The _Batman_ was yelling at _Jay_.

He didn't feel quite so fatigued anymore, as a surge of adrenaline spiked through him, shooting into every corner of his body. He could feel it, welling up in his toes and fingers, pressing on his chest and lungs as he sprang up and away, trying to not only wretch his hand out of the man's now somewhat lazed, shocked grip, but also to dodge forwards as swiftly as he could to grab the phone away from him. He hadn't been talking into his hand! He'd been talking on his phone! He'd been talking on his phone to Jay!

"Crane, calm down!" The words were rough, but Jonny paid no heed as he tried again to swipe at the phone, which the Batman seemed to pull away just in time as he got near to it, backing even further off the bed and away from his once again, panicking form. Jonny, in his harsh swipes, missed the loud and obnoxious laughter from the other end of the phone. "Enough! You're going to cause your heart to stop! Calm down or I'll forcibly restrain you!"

Why would his heart stop?

Well…other than the fact that Jay would kill him when he got back since he'd broken about, oh, _all of the rules_ in one fell swoop.

And he'd let the bloody Batman into their apartment!

Yeah, other than that, he felt fine, his chest felt fine, if a bit tight. But that was due to the earlier panic attack, right? Wait, how did he know that, when he was fairly sure he'd not known anything about panic attacks while he was having one? Maybe he was remembering something finally, though this was sort of a lousy time to be remembering anything. He wasn't an expert, but fear induced panic seemed a bit much for him, though he was sure he knew all the symptoms.

The symptoms of Fear…

The symptoms of Power.

**xXx**

Jay - no, **The Joker**- couldn't help but laugh at the amount of commotion being transferred via the phone he held in his hands. Though he had it on speakerphone, and he had been pacing about the desk with the phone moving wildly around with him, he wasn't necessarily paying all that much attention to what was going on. It had been more of an unplanned call, after all.

Yes, he had been a bit surprised, ecstatic even, when someone specifically tall, dark, and absolutely bat-shit crazy had picked up the phone call meant for Jonny, but it wasn't a deterrent.

Oh no, far from it…far from it.

In fact, it only made the once seemingly boring call all the more _entertaining_.

At least for him, anyways.

But what made it even more entertaining were the reactions he was getting out of not only his dark playmate, but out of Jonny boy himself. At first it had just been Batsy demanding to know what he'd done to Jonny, which there wasn't anything really (being hit with a car wasn't really a big deal) but he just kept ranting and raving on. It had been a bit…_boring_, he was sad to say, and though he loved his Batsy very much, he just couldn't help but be a bit bored with the way this was all being handled. It wasn't like the man didn't have a sense of imagination or anything, no; he had a better idea than that.

His man most definitely could get creative when he wanted to.

The scars on his collar bone and one on his forehead were proof enough of that.

Though, the fun part didn't really start until his little stray got back up and hissing once more, of course, because if anyone could cause a bit of chaotic fun, it was a confused and hurting Jonny. (And he would be confused and hurting, of course. He could tell that Jonny was just by the way his Bat's voice inflected and raved over the phone.) Oh yes, the show had been anything but a letdown. He could hear the shouting and panicky breathing of Jonny from where he stood across the room from the phone. Not even the pre-paid cell's crappy speakerphone could interfere with that sort of fireworks show.

And a show it was bound to be.

Now if only he'd thought to make popcorn ahead of time.


	7. Rallentando

**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

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"_You don't, uh, seem to be listening here Batsy… He doesn't know any of us. In fact, he uh, he doesn't know anything." _

Batman –Bruce- hadn't listened to the meaning of those words when the Joker had started explaining why he'd been calling Jonathan Crane, and just why he'd been found in the same apartment as him again after Crane's lengthy absence. (Or why the man was, once again, covered his more than his fair share of bruises, cuts, and bandages.) The Joker had just laughed and mumbled something about screeching wheelies before saying those words…words that maybe he should have paid better attention too before starting yet another grappling match with the ever unstable Jonathan Crane.

"_You see, Jonny isn't quite…well for lack of better terms, right in the, uh, __**head**__ now. Not that he really was before hand either, but even more so, uh, now. That's why he's Jonny now, not Crane, not Crow, but Jonny." _

Or Jonny, as the Joker was calling him.

At least he hadn't gotten any stronger in the missing time he'd been away, not like Bruce had really been expecting that. Crane wasn't really one for weight lifting, or physical activity in general he thought, so he hadn't really needed to worry about that. But he hadn't seemed to get it through his thick head that The Batman only really wanted to help him, to protect him from himself really, and not hurt him without just cause. Well, at least this version hadn't, anyways. In fact, none of them probably had.

It hadn't really taken much or very long to subdue him again, his frail body slamming into the mattress once more before he went still, if a bit disoriented. He hadn't knocked him out, just rattled him a bit, which was good. The Batman would need him awake for any sort of questioning once he figured out how to get Crane out and the Joker located without alerting the majority of the GCPD too –or Crane's- whereabouts. He would of course call Commissioner Gordon later, but right now, he couldn't afford to deal with both SWAT teams and the homicidal nature of the Joker all at once. Not when he was also trying to figure out just what had happened under his very nose.

When he'd finally gotten enough oxygen back into his lungs to start allowing for firing of neurons again, he realized that the phone was more than likely still on regardless of its position on the floor at the foot of the bed, and that Jonathan had rolled onto his side, away from him, into the fetal position and started to shake. He just prayed, absolutely prayed, that he hadn't done more damage than the Joker most likely already had. Physical wounds weren't all that difficult to tend with, since you could clearly see the full extent of them thanks to medical improvements. Emotional wounds, however, weren't even close to that…and when dealing with Jonathan Crane, nothing was as simple as it should be.

Bruce had to force the urge to shout in frustration (or sigh, since he couldn't decided) down within his gut before walking –stalking- over to shut the phone off. Whatever the Joker would have said probably wouldn't help anyways, and see as how he wasn't here now to hinder any sort of progress; he'd decided to take Crane away. He wasn't quite sure where he was going to take him yet, seeing as how he didn't know the full extent of his injuries or the events surrounding them. He could just drop him off at Arkham, of course, but seeing as how the Joker left there on a whim, something told him that if the clown had really wanted too, it wouldn't have taken much for him to waltz right in the front door and snatched Crane right out from under their noses. And if there was one thing that the clearly distressed man didn't need right now, it was having his world totally shattered by an over-bearing, homicidal clown.

Or the sudden withdraw of his medications.

Bruce could have nearly slapped himself upside the head for forgetting that tidbit of information. Jonathan wasn't ever un-medicated, even he knew that. The man was a recovering patient from his own hallucinogenic drugs, on top of already being a Psychopharmacologist and a heart-care patient. (Which, was something Batman had just learned from old medical files he'd recovered from Arkham, since most of them were "lost" when all the patients broke out into the Narrows) Jonathan Crane was sick before any of this had happened, albeit lighter than he was now, and the new head of the facility, Jeremiah Arkham, had attempted to not only cover it up, but to get rid of all the evidence that Jonathan Crane had existed before being thrown into their care in the first place.

That's why a copy of those files had found their way onto both Arkham's desk and Commissioner Gordon's…and hopefully Crane's newest carrying physician.

He expected great things from Joan Leland.

After all, she'd been top of her class and recommended by all her mentors.

But hopefully she would be enough, enough to get through the terrifyingly cold outer shell that made up Jonathan Crane's personality, and into the real helplessness and want that he knew the man buried deep within himself. He wasn't a psychologist or anything, no, far from it, but even he was bright enough to see that a majority of Crane's problems stemmed from the loneliness and isolation he's suffered throughout his lifetime. (Well, that and years upon years worth of mental and physical abuse.) That's where his alter ego –the separate personality even- of the Scarecrow had come from. It was an effort to disassociate from the world around him, the helplessness, and the isolation.

And though he didn't outright show it, Bruce really did care.

Now if only he could find the man's medication, he could start working on how to get Crane out of this place without significant damage to himself or to the ex-doctor, and to a place where he could not only get the help he needed, but a safe environment in which to live.

For the time being, anyways.

* * *

**Dun, dun, dun! The plot thickens, and we all get a nice little insight into Bruce's head. He really does want to help, after all, that's why he pours so much money into Arkham and the asylum's care anyways. And I rather like Joan Leland, so she gets a shout out.  
**

**Also, someone asked for more Batman/Bruce insight, and so I happily tried to oblige, though I've gone almost what? Two months without posting? Sheesh, I'm sorry. I'll try harder to get these updates along faster, I promise. **


	8. Miserere

**Counter Point Café  
–Chapter Eight**

**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

**

* * *

**

The Joker wasn't dumb.

He knew –_he knew_!- when his Batsy had shut the phone off that his little hiatus in Gotham had come to an end, much like the time he was spending with Jonny in the apartment. Since it had clearly been discovered now, fully discovered, he couldn't use it as a hideout-away-from-hideout anymore, which also meant that any of his things that had been there were now gone and soon to be confiscated. (Which if the Bat did his job -which he always did, since he was such a good Batsy- wouldn't take more than ten minutes after he'd collected Jonny and driven off.)

And he knew that Jonny would be going with the Bat.

It wasn't like it was all that hard to figure out, after all, and he was a genius of chaotic proportions on any account. In fact, it was a lot like simple math. If you added certain things together, then you'd get a certain outcome or product. It was the same with his soft-hearted Kevlar Knight. If he was presented with a needy, hallucination-induced, basket case with kitten eyes and an overwhelmingly apparent family complex, then it was safe to assume that there could only be two outcomes, which were preceded by the fact that he'd need to transport them himself. His lovely Bat was clearly as unimpressed with the GCPD as he himself was, if his distrust in their methods showed anything.

But it wasn't like he could really blame him or anything; after all, they often let him get away without anything more than a simple parlor trick and a few house-hold items. If the Joker had been on the opposite end of that more than once, like the Batman clearly had, then he wasn't so sure he would be confident in them either.

Though that wasn't the topic at hand…so much for the Doc's intent to help him with his "loose associations" or whatever they'd been called this time. (And that in itself was an entirely different can of worms anyways…) But back to the main point, there were only two outcomes to this situation! One, the Batman took Jonny with him and transported him straight to Arkham or Two, Batman stayed with Jonny until a meddling Commissioner Gordon arrived on scene and called in the Calvary to take Jonny back to Arkham. Either way, the play-toy in question made his way back into Arkham, and subsequently back into his clutches.

It was only really a matter of time.

**xXx**

Bruce still had no earthly idea how he'd managed to get Jonathan Crane out of the apartment and into the tumbler without an arsenal of sedatives and at least one book. Really, he didn't do anything, per say, but glare at the man and give him a command before shadowing him until Crane had voluntarily (seemingly, anyways) got up off the bed and quickly walked to their intended destination. He hadn't said a word the entire way there, and had only looked up at him once before quickly averting his eyes again when Bruce had caught him starring.

It was…unsettling to say the least, in his opinion, since Jonathan Crane was anything but silent and compliant to anything he suggested or said.

_Ever_.

The man just couldn't bow to anything, regardless of what it was, or what it was being done for. He couldn't just take anything given to him by anyone other than himself (which is probably why his Arkham files showed more than one documented incident of classic mistrust of others and other behavior) or Scarecrow, which until recent events, had been thought of as an escape route more than another being completely. It was probably a direct result of the childhood and life Jonathan Crane had had, and if Bruce hadn't found those Arkham records, he probably wouldn't have known what a lot of the more recent indicators meant long-term wise, but he was glad he had.

It was so much easier to handle someone when you know what they've been through, and what significant stressors in their life lead to wherever it was that they'd ended up. And apparently even geniuses got lonely sometimes. Bruce could relate to that, in his own ways. He hadn't ever had many friends growing up, since he often shunned others in his own grief and stubbornness, and even now he didn't have much more than Alfred and Lucius Fox by way of friends. (He wasn't going to think about Rachel or Harvey either.) That train of thought could get him nowhere he needed to be, right now.

He was isolated and living a lie, essentially, since everyday he pretended to be this air-headed playboy that didn't know what was going on and that did nothing more than party and let others handle his company while throwing money into random charities for social benefits. He couldn't let anyone know the real him, couldn't afford to let them see how smart or compassionate he really was. All he could do was keep funding those who needed it (Like Arkham Asylum and the Gotham City Police Department) and pray that his work as the Batman did some good for someone out there. For someone who needed it as badly as he had growing up.

But maybe he and Jonathan Crane weren't as different as he often liked to believe. After all, both of them preyed on the instinctual premises of Fear, both of them used their brains (for the most part, anyways) to get the results they desired, and both of them were pretending to be something they were not. For Jonathan it was to show someone who hated everyone else, who wasn't lonely, who didn't need a single other person in the entire world, who was more cold than most of the subterranean glaciers residing in the ice caps in the far away corners of the world.

For Bruce, it was everything he could do to cover that up.

**xXx**

Jonny couldn't understand why the Batman hadn't done anything bad to him yet.

He'd been stuck in the man-bat-thing's presence for more than an hour now, according to his bedside clock, and with the exception of his _stupid_ attack on the Kevlar covered man; he hadn't been touched or even given a second glance. Even when he'd been at his most vulnerable, right after the incident with Jay and the phone, he hadn't been given a second thought. It was oddly unsettling for Jonny, since according to Jay; this man (because it was oh so clearly a man) would do nothing but hurt others. But so far he hadn't done anything more than seemed shocked or defend himself from an, albeit lame attack, but an attack none the less.

So Jonny was waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop on his head.

The problem was, he wasn't sure when it was going to happen.

He was almost certain that it'd happen when the Batman practically smashed the little pre-paid cell phone that Jay had given to him in order to keep contact, since the man seemed so infuriated with the little piece of technology after the beeping of a severed line came over the speakers. He'd stared at it like it was going to cure cancer or something and when it'd stopped doing what it was doing before he'd interrupted, he looked absolutely murderous. Which was why he'd rolled into a fetal ball and laid there, waiting for it.

But his end never came, instead being traded out for the man to give what sounded like a frustrated grunt before walking out of the little room and back down the hallway to where the kitchenette was. Jonny knew that he was in the kitchen simply because he could hear things being gone through, and when he heard the doors and what not open, he knew there was something the Batman was looking for. Though it appeared that he'd never know since not only did the masked-man refrain from asking him (more like throttling him until he told, or something else just as horrible) he simply came back in and went through the bathroom's contents before doing the same with the nightstands.

Whatever he was looking for, though, he never found it.

And then the moment came again, when the invader had turned to him and growled out that he get up, put on his shoes (he was wearing his slippers still, but he wasn't going to argue with this one) and put on a coat before he was to follow him. Jonathan had done it all silently and efficiently, trying not to anger the man anymore than he clearly was already, before looking at him like a child would at a teacher or other adult figure. Then it came, the dreaded words, the ones that would forever seal his fate, breaking the one rule of Jay's that he hadn't broken.

The Batman had made him leave with him.

xXx

Finally, he knew where he was going to take Crane.

Finally, after rummaging around for mysteriously absent medication in the crammed but clean apartment that clearly belong to Dr. Jonathan Crane, he knew where he could put the man where not only would no one find him, but where only he could get to, or even come and go. Because really, he doubted that Alfred or Lucius would want anything to do with Jonathan Crane or the fact that he was going to be staying for a while in the underground complex buried deep beneath the shut down complex of the Wayne Enterprise's old shipping docks. All those abandoned containers ensured that no one would ever dig the place up, and even if they did wander into the yard, they'd never hear anyone.

It was isolated, it was secluded, it was underground, well equipped, and empty since he and Alfred had cleared out when Bruce had planned on confessing to Harvey Dent. The wall bed was still down there, he knew for sure, and though it had sat without use for quite a few months, it wasn't like the plumbing would suddenly stop working. It had running water and the necessary hygienic facilities, Bruce had seen to that when it was built, so if he were to stay late after a route one night, he would have everything that he needed.

Most importantly, it was an open room where all of his computers could monitor activity at. It was, effectively, one large viewing area now, since it hadn't been used since then. It might take a few trips to get all the necessary things (Such as food, blankets, and clothing) down there for Crane, at first, but since only he knew how to activate the remaining computers and most certainly was the only one who knew how to work the lift between them, it was safe to say that Crane wouldn't be able to get out without someone knowing it.

Or anyone to get in, for that matter….

That eliminated a majority of threats that would occur if he were to take Crane back to Arkham, or to the GCPD for that matter, which therefore eliminated any possibilities that the Joker would be able to get anywhere near Crane without him knowing. Problem solved, in his opinion.

So that's where they were headed now, but not before he'd blindfolded Crane and gone back for some of the man's things.

Giving the man the clearly decaying teddy bear had probably not been a very good idea.


	9. Nachtmusik

**Counter Point Café –Chapter 9**

**Just got done with my Abnormal Psychology final, where I used The Joker, Batman, and Jonathan Crane as examples for my essay. (Describing BPD, Mood Disorders, and overlapping disorders, of course!) Not only was it my easiest final –two guess man- but it was also the most fun, since I got to reference Batman, The Flintstones, Pokémon, Harry Potter, and of course Star Trek, since my Professor is also a Trekkie. Not to mention I had Raspberry Zingers for breakfast, which as you all know, is the breakfast of chaotic clowns and champions. **

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It was something of a surprise when Bruce descended into the temporary cave beneath the shipping yard again for the second time that night to find the room completely empty. The brightly lit room shone brilliantly in comparison to the darkened streets above them, the fluorescent lighting almost temporarily blinding him when he came down on the lift. But even as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights around him, he couldn't seem to find any sign of life within the open room.

No Jonathan Crane…

But there was a dark patch off to the back corner still, where he'd opened up the wall alcove to show Crane the bed on his earlier trip here. With any luck, the man would be curled up in there, hiding from him and the rest of his new environment. More and more, Bruce was reminded of a new pet, something that absolutely terrified him as much as he was sure that Crane was terrified of him. The Joker had an astute way of putting things that just really made the hackles on the back of his neck rise, though he knew he had that affect on people too. Jonathan Crane was always good to have one up on Fear-wise anyways.

Not that Bruce really wanted him to hide from his presence, no, not at all, but he got the feeling that that was going to be the pace of things for a while around here, until he could reassure the frightened man that he wasn't out to kill him or the old Crane started to filter back in. But seeing as how there was absolutely no telling what the Joker had told him while keeping him prisoner in that apartment…and though the Joker had this unusual fixation on him, he wouldn't put it past the man to turn Crane on him for a bit of amusement. That was just the sort of chaos the demented clown man would just love to go with his evening meals.

Batman even had to given an involuntary shutter at the thought of what the Joker had for dinner. Something about the mental image put him off, would put anyone off really, and that was saying something. (Bruce was pretty sure that though the table would be festively decorated, it wouldn't be in traditional party decorations…since bloody and gore rarely were sold outside of prop shops and butchers' dens.) He couldn't imagine eating with anyone from that crowd, especially not the Joker.

Jonathan Crane had done it for god knows how long.

But this wasn't the time to be distracted by such meaningless and trivial ideas that Bruce knew had no foundation in anything other than his head. He had a job to do, a person to take care of down here, and though he wasn't the most gentle of beings, he wasn't heartless enough to leave Crane without another word…even if the man deserved it. No, that wasn't right either. Jonathan Crane needed help, lots of it, sure, but help none the less. Even if the help really had no idea what to do with the insane man…

"Crane?" God, did his voice always reverberate like that, or was it just because of the room down here? Bruce had to wonder if he always sounded that…gruesome. "Crane, where are you?"

Oh yes, like he's going to answer…way to go Bruce.

Now who's crazy?

Well, regardless of whether or not Crane answered his calls, he had to keep searching for him, he really did. He couldn't just walk away and pretend the man was down here if he'd never seen him again after the initial shove off the lift, even if a small portion of him really, really wanted to. Plus Bruce knew he had to be just hiding somewhere down here, most likely in the alcove that was created when the wall shifted down to reveal the cot he had often used after patrol. He hadn't used it since the move back to the mansion, of course, but it was still there, and if some good could come out of the whole thing, then who was he to deny it?

"Crane, are you in there?" He said, finally standing in front of the small recess that held the mattress that he'd used countless times.

No answer came from within the wall, but that didn't mean he wasn't in there.

Stooping down to look into knee-level niche, Bruce glanced in while bracing himself on the top of the wall. There was hardly enough space in there to sit up, let alone hide from him, so if Crane was in there, it wouldn't be hard to spot and potentially wrestle him out. Not that he really wanted to, but if Crane got scared or even slightly violent, there was no telling what would happen.

But judging by the deep breathing, closed eyes, and the way he was wrapped up in the massive amounts of blankets on the bed that Bruce saw within the nook, he'd say he didn't have to worry about a battle with Crane for at least a while.

Good, Bruce could use with a break.

**xXx **

The bed clothes smelt like spices and some type of manly cologne, though not an overly cheap sort, Jonathan reflected as he lay with his face in the pillow and blankets at the far back of the recess in the wall. He couldn't help but be tired, what with the late hour and all the emotional upheaval that he'd experienced after Jay had left him alone in the apartment. He couldn't be sure how long he'd been up and out now, as there was no clock, but by the way his body was protesting, he'd have to say it was longer than he was used too.

And then his eyes started to feel heavy as he waited for something, though what he couldn't say. His eyes were heavy and his body so tired…he couldn't help it. He'd just rest his eyes for a few moments, and then he'd stay awake and alert. Awake and alert for when the scary Batman descended back into the fluorescent prison he'd put him in.

But why did it have to be so cold down here?

He was cold, and the blankets were oh so warm, and he was just going to rest his eyes for a few minutes…it couldn't hurt, could it?

No, not when the blankets were this warm…

**xXx**

Jonathan couldn't understand why his reflection was all…stitched up and his skin made up of burlap.

Or why he didn't feel scared.

Or even what the mirror version of himself was saying.

Or why he was calling himself Jonathan.

He couldn't hear what the other version of him was saying, not through the slightly frosted glass of the mirror they were standing in front of together, in what looked like a rotting foyer in an old-styled mansion. The room around them looked like it should have fallen in ages ago, the floor boards and beams creaking and groaning in ways that sounded so much of screams that shivers were running up and down his spine. This place seemed familiar, it did, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand why it did so.

Or why this other version of him seemed familiar as well.

And though he didn't have his hands on the glass, the other version of him did, and was banging on the glass with all of his spindly might. Whatever part of him that was, he was so upset that Jonathan was pretty sure that they were both bleeding. (His knuckles were dripping onto the floorboards beneath him, and there was blood smeared on the glass separating them.) The Scarecrow-version of him couldn't get out, apparently, and he was so paralyzed that he couldn't…

He couldn't get back to him either.

* * *

**I'm not sure if there is actually any of these sleeping/restroom facilities down there in that temporary cave, but according to my brain and Bruce's hellish schedule on himself, there are. So now you get cute Jonny sleeping in temp-cave, Jonathan, Jonny, and Scarecrow dreaming, and a bit of interlude from Batman. **


	10. Vivace

**Counter Point Café – Chapter 10**

**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

**I'm sorry that I haven't updated in nearly four months, if a bit longer...which I think it has been. I'm very, very sorry, so please enjoy this short chapter while I start laying out the outlines for the longer ones to come. We reach the pinnacle, and from here the dance is going to increase tempo quickly.  
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When Bruce got home, there was a small book sitting on his computer chair before the large computer in the cave. It was innocent enough, from where he was standing anyways. Pale yellow in color, relatively thick in content, with a few pictures on the front cover, it wasn't overly interesting from where he was standing. (Which may have been explained by the fact that, in the dim lighting of the motion-censored cave, he couldn't see the cover all too well.) But for the life of him, Bruce couldn't think of why Alfred would have left a book out on his chair like that. Normally he wasn't so spotty as to leave a book out, and neither of them were doing any research that required book at the moment.

So why was there a book left out?

It was odd to think that maybe it was because Alfred was getting on in years, whether or not the man admitted it to himself or to Bruce. Bruce knew that Alfred hadn't been a spring chicken when he'd originally been hired by the family, and seeing as how he'd stuck to Bruce through his supposed Seven Year Death it had been quite a long time for them both. For Bruce it could be longer, as he never wanted Alfred to leave him, not even when the man decided that it was finally time for him to retire, both from the household as well as the cave and job beneath it. Alfred was more than just a hired hand, after all, and if he had anything to do with it, it would stay that way indefinitely.

But when Bruce finally got up to the desk and read the title of the book_, How To Care For Your New Puppy_, he found that Alfred's attempt at humor wasn't all that funny after all, and neither was his sense of timing. Or lack of therefore…

Really, how had the man found out so quickly anyways? He'd only stopped in to get some supplies before turning right around again, not having seen the butler once in his haste this evening, not even for a moment. He'd not ever gotten a chance to tell him that'd he'd found Crane, let alone that he was trying to keep him safe in their temporary cave. So how had the older man known that he was caring for Crane?

And why had the man made the allusion to Crane being his new puppy?

True Alfred could have seen him running into the cave from the monitors that littered the premise, even within the cave. (Though those cameras only fed into the central computer that was housed in the Bat-Cave as Alfred had taken to calling it these days. It was to keep nosy eyes and ears away from anything important.) He could have even seen him stopping by and gathering the supplies he'd immediately needed to tend to the man, but from what he'd gathered there was no earthly way that Alfred could have known they were for another person, or even that they'd be in his company for an extended period of time.

And Crane most certainly wasn't his dog, though Bruce could take the joke in some sense of stride. But he drew the line at the light blue collar that he found next, sitting on his bench when he started to undress from his night on patrol. There was no way he'd ever condone putting a collar on a human being, even one as needy and corrupt as Crane. He didn't need a puppy care guide, no, but he did require a _How-To-Care For Your New Tweaking Psychopath_ book…

**xXx**

Jonny woke up screaming, he knew.

Though he hadn't heard himself scream, he could feel how raw his throat and vocal cords felt from over-exertion. He was sore, his wrists and knuckles throbbing from their spot curled against his chest, his head ached as if someone had hit him repeatedly, and the lights around him were bright, far too bright. All in all, not an overly pleasant way to wake up to the world, though somehow he knew that he'd had worse in the past. Though who's past, he couldn't be certain, and he hoped and hoped that it wasn't in his recently forgotten past. That would just be…awful.

Yet he didn't want to move out of the nice, warm cocoon he was wrapped up in, the feelings of slight safety and warmth overriding the temporary fear that'd been coursing through him when he'd woken up out of the horrible nightmare he'd been having. His pain and fear quickly being over-ridden by the fact that he was safely curled into the back corner of a rather large but compact whole in the wall, sheets and pillows thrown up about him. He probably wouldn't have moved from his wall either, had it not been for the slight glimpse of crimson he saw smeared across the plain, white sheets.

Moving slowly, ever so slowly, he uncurled himself and grasped the blankets before moving them up to his face, his glasses sitting somewhere in a little cubby shelf above his head. When he patted about and finally found them, they slid slowly onto his face, as if not recognizing him as their owners. Jonny couldn't blame them, he hardly recognized himself sometimes. The glasses only made the point more strikingly clear to everyone.

There were patchy points of red smeared here and there, as well as what looked like finger prints and slight snagging where nails had been drug across them roughly. The hands were about as big as his own, though he hadn't remembered doing this, and as far as he knew he was just fine and very much alone in the clearly underground facility the Batman had placed him in. But where would blood and finger prints have come from, if not from him?

The glimpse of his bleeding knuckles and torn nails in his peripheral vision made all thought processes halt mid-thought.

His hands…his hands were bleeding.

And his nails were torn up.

He had been the one to bleed all over the blankets and himself then, not someone else, a someone else who was MIA. Whatever had happened, he'd clearly done it to himself in his dream induced slumber. He had been afraid, terrified even, and distressed, but he hadn't thought himself that distressed. So distressed, so absolutely horrified and blood-chillingly afraid that he'd accidently hurt himself. The dream had been an odd one, sure, but nothing about it or its imagery were anything that horror movies would be made from. In fact, it had only been him an another person in a ratty, old, run-down house that looked as if no one had touched it in years. The man had been yelling at him, true, and looked like a side-show surgery reject, but he wasn't intimidating or even all that scary in his own right.

But for some reason, he'd been afraid of the other man and of himself.

And with shocking realization, Jonny realized he was still shaking.

**xXx**

Though the signal had long been broken, the Joker knew, he also knew that if anyone could get the Bat's attention, it would be the Commissioner. (That's also how he'd found out about the light being broken, and how he'd found were they'd thrown away all the broken pieces of the glass and symbol used to project the signal.) And the easiest way to get to the Commissioner was through his family.

But if there was one thing that the Joker wasn't, it was that he wasn't a copy cat.

Seeing as how Harvey Dent had beaten him to taking the Commissioner's family, he'd just have to find a new and improved way to get to the man. And as a human, Jimbo would have _oh so many_ ways to break. The question of the day was just which way would the Joker use to break his dear old Commissioner buddy? And, just how long he'd toy with other weak points before finally putting enough pressure on the man to fully shatter any hopes and dreams he'd had left. Now that's where all the fun came in, after all, and he was more than looking forwards to it.

The prospect of getting Jonny back had just gotten oh so much more fun.

Not that a virtual man hunt for the little crow wasn't fun enough as it was, but add in the fact that his Bat had finally come back out to play, the new idea of using the GCPD as human piñatas, and torturing James Gordon…well, now it was a real party.

And every party needed a good outcome…

The Joker just wondered how keen other Gothamites would be to attending another party thrown by their esteemed host and family-fun loving clown? And where was he going to find a catering service this close to party time?

At least there was a phone book he could filch out of the old phone booth a block and a half down…

**xXx**

"Alfred, what's the big idea with the pet book and collar?" Bruce asked as he finally found the man wandering about the laundry room, waist coat removed in favor of what appeared to be a starched apron with large pockets on the front. "And how did you know?"

"Know what, Master Bruce? I only placed the items downstairs for your immediate attention upon your return home, not as some sort of joke or prank, which you seem to believe. I assumed that upon one of your return trips into Gotham, you could return them to their rightful owner." The English-accented voice replied back calmly, making eye contact easily. "That book and collar fell into my possession after I witnessed the Commissioner and his young son, drop it when roaming about the downtown bookstore. It appears they're getting some sort of dog."

"Hopefully a guard dog, Alfred." Bruce said, relaxing a bit. "A really, really _large_ guard dog, preferably. And not one of those little yappy toy dogs that women seem so fond of anymore. No, they need a large dog, one that can protect them."

"Quite, Sir." Alfred replied, returning to his laundry, curious but not overly so. "Quite."


	11. Tarantella

**Counter Point Café Chapter 11**

**I don't own anything, believe me when I say that I would like to, however I do not. They in fact belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers Studios, Christopher Nolan, Cillian Murphy, Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, and the late Heath Ledger. All elements of Gotham City are based off of Chicago, IL and are designed around blue prints and street maps I have of that area. Other elements are named for their original comic counterparts, as the back stories and basic personality traits are also based off of the comic counterparts. Read, enjoy, and review! Thank you!**

**Please enjoy and tell me what you think. I've sort of got distracted and lost my goal for this story, so I'm trying to re-hatch it out a bit. Ideas, comments, or just insight are always welcomed.  
**

* * *

When he re-entered the cave, the first thing Bruce –Batman- saw was Crane hunched over the tiny fold out sink in front of the small divider that separated the entrance to the open room holding both the shower stall and toilet. At first it just appeared as if the nervous man was washing his hands, and regardless of mental delays or injuries, Bruce believed that the man would always retain the almost OCD-like tendency for cleanliness. But as he approached, and Crane shied away from his towering figure, he saw the red streaks across the sheets at his feet, and the baggy shirt that the man was still wearing.

And when he got even closer and was able to grab at Crane's hands from the still running water, he could see the extent of the damage the man had done to himself. The nails on both hands were torn up and bleeding from what looked to have been cause by teeth or raggedly and repeatedly scraped down the cinder-block walls. Either way, the fingers themselves looked bloodied, scratched, and bruised, which would most definitely need to be tended too. As well as getting Crane out of the bloodied clothing and into something fresh and somewhat more his size.

Because at the moment he was starting to live up to his name, and he didn't mean Crane either.

"I'll need to bandage those properly once you're done cleaning them." He said in what could pass for tenderness in a throat cancer patient's voice. "I can't let you leave them like that, or they'll become infected."

And he knew that Crane would probably continue to pick at them if they were wrapped up and kept from prying and picking fingers and nervous habits. He'd seen the man tear himself apart before just as a side effect of the delusions and hallucinations the lingering Toxin damage had caused. If he wasn't tended to properly the first time, then it was only bound to get worse.

"I also brought you clean clothing, so when we're done bandaging your fingers, you can change out of the bloodied ones." Bruce was really, really trying to be patient here. "I won't have you running about hurting yourself."

Though Crane said nothing in return to his remarks and un-arguable demands, he got the impression that the man was still scared stiff of him, something he would have approved of not a few months ago. But now it was like dealing with a small child, one who was a danger to themselves and others. And try as he might, Bruce just didn't have it in him to absolutely terrorize him into compliance. Not when the simple method of asking seemed to work just as well, if not better.

Bandaging Crane's hands took a lot more willpower then he would have originally suspected though, and every time he drew the man's hands towards him to disinfect them or wrap them, Crane would flinch and try to pull himself back and away. It wasn't like the disinfectant stung, he should know, it was the same kind he used on himself when men like Crane hurt him. And it wasn't like he was growling or being threatening, not on purpose anyways. Maybe it was that Crane was just terrified of him? Well, more terrified of him now than he ever had been before, even when he'd been hopped up on his own Toxin.

Once he was done with the first aid, he once again asked for Crane to take off the soiled shirt and replace it with one that he'd supplied for him. Crane had stared at the shirt for a good ten minutes before nervously glancing from him to the shirt and back before proceeding to remove the one he was wearing. Bruce was slightly startled that the shy man had chosen to do so while still in his presence, though the divider hardly gave anymore privacy to the rest of the room than once would expect, he'd still assumed that Crane would hide himself away as much as he could. The Crane he knew would have thrown a fit before stomping off to change, his arrogance and ranting covering the clear discomfort he would be experiencing.

But not this Crane.

It was like watching two separate people.

Bruce tried desperately to ignore the countless scars that littered the smaller man's body as the shirt was removed, a majority of them focused on his back and shoulders. He'd known from the medical reports and countless examinations done at both the hospital and at Arkham that the Crane was covered in the marks, though they were deceivingly well hidden from view, but seeing them for himself made them all the more real. All the more horrifying, especially when one realized that none of those marks could ever have been self-inflicted, and that they were very, very old. Some of them were even partially healed with age.

And it didn't help that Bruce knew exactly what made a majority of those marks.

Crane's Great-Grandmother had been horribly abusive, though no one, Jonathan Crane included, ever said anything of the sort. It was never documented, but like the bullying that was classic of the sort of mental break Crane had had, Bruce knew for a fact that it had happened. The way Crane never talked about his family or his life before his job as Arkham's prodigy Director was a major indication of this, but also the little signs such as the lack of photos or personal items in his original office and apartment. Even his home, sterile down to the very industrial styled carpet, was bland and un-personable, hardly giving anything in the man's life a lived in feel, which was a clear sign of disassociation with one's own life, as well as their past.

That and other children don't get the idea to hit another with belts, let alone the household tools that had been used to inflict pain and discipline upon this man as a child. And though Bruce knew that this man had gassed thousands in the Narrows, tortured hundreds of inmates and tested on countless mental patients in Arkham for treatment, he couldn't help but feel a sense of hopeless sorrow for the man. A true sense of absolutely dark hopelessness.

True, it was a far cry from pity, because Bruce didn't really have the ability to pity anyone fully, but it was a true case of a horrible childhood. Unlike his own, where he was well-tended by Alfred after the tragic and horrifying death of his parents before his eyes, he doubted Crane had ever truly known any sort of love from his family. He had told his doctors in Arkham that he was the unwanted mistake of a drugged-up mother whose own grandmother had given the orders to dispose of him in the garbage heap with the rest of the trash. But it wasn't the statement that had brought out the alarms, oh no, it was the deadpanned delivery of the statement that had caught the doctor's attentions.

They way that Crane had confessed that he was an unwanted being had made shivers run down all of the present practitioners' backs. It was almost as if he had detached himself from his own life when he said it, though you'd never have gotten him to confess to such a thing. But for a man who was always in control of his life to find out and tell others that he was a mistake, an unwanted child to a family who didn't even care to take him to a hospital after he was clearly born with health concerns, it was just bizarre and a little more than the word disturbing could cover.

Much like the man often was.

With every passing second, Jonathan Crane became more of an enigma…and a seemingly hopeless case.


End file.
